


no matter how far away you roam

by dizzy



Series: byebye 20gayteen daily fic advent [19]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: prompt:for dizzy: a moment in FBI!Dan-and-Phil's life post-CelebrationandI think Mandy already said to have this in the works, but if I'm wrong... Another part for the "Celebration" universe? <3andAnything in Celebration AU (I miss it so much!)





	no matter how far away you roam

December in DC is gray and cold and dreary, streets filled with sludge when it snows but mostly just a drizzle of rain that almost reminds Dan of being back in England. 

Their basement office doesn't hold much warmth to it, either. The walls are cracked with age and there's only so much that can be done to make festive the rows of filing cabinets along the back wall or the beige and gray desks they call their homes away from home. 

That doesn't stop Phil from trying, though. There's tinsel messily strung over those cabinets, tied to the metal handles, and a Christmas tree on the little table that holds their coffee pot. Phil doesn't seem to understand the insult when Phil calls it a Charlie Brown tree; he thinks it's got fantastic character even if it only has four limbs sturdy enough to actually hold baubles. The other three are hung from paper clip chains down from the ceiling. 

It looks ridiculous but each bauble has a year written on it - one for every year they've been together, Phil says, and that means every time a flash of color catches Dan's eye he has that pesky swelling of seasonally appropriate affection swelling in his chest. 

There are gifts too. Phil's an overachiever when it comes to gift buying. They have real presents, presents for just the two of them that are underneath the real tree they have in Phil's apartment, so he says the ones under their office tree are just for work, and they're to open one a day until the twenty-second, when they start their journeys to other sides of the world for the week that every year represents their most time spent apart. 

But that's a week away and Dan's not going to let his mind go there yet. He always gets weird around the holidays now, stresses and gets too lost in his thoughts about things they deny themselves and the meaning of life and sharing it with someone and what makes the truth really true if it's not anyone's perception of them. 

Phil hates it when he's like that. He hates the form it takes when his anxieties bleed into Phil; the defeated look on his face, the way he tries double hard to pull Dan out of it with a the faint flavor of desperation coating everything out of his mouth. Sometimes Dan resents Phil for trying, and sometimes he thinks he'd be completely lost if Phil ever stopped. 

Christmas, he thinks.

Fucking Christmas. 

*

Mariah Carey's playing in the background and their mugs of coffee have an underlying flavor of eggnog. 

It doesn't change the stack of paperwork from their last case that they have to wrap up before they can leave for the day. It also doesn't change the fact that it's already six pm and thanks to the fact that the coroner's report came late and the emails they're waiting on from people who for all they know aren't even in the office anymore, they'll probably end up ordering takeaway and trudging home well past nine pm. 

Dan's fantasy right now takes that form; getting home, taking his fucking suit off finally, crawling into Phil's bed and falling asleep to whatever annoying Hallmark Christmas movie about straight white people with bleached teeth and coordinating red and green outfits Phil has chosen for the night. 

Phil and his stupid, insufferable, adorable traditions. On the nights they manage to cut out early he always wants to play a board game with Dan or bake something. Some nights Dan really can't be bothered - not a cute, coy act but the darkness of a mood that settles around him refuses to be thwarted by optimistic attempts. But most nights Dan just appreciates having someone who cares enough to try. Even if their gingerbread men tasted like cardboard and Phil just wanted to draw icing penises on all of them, even if there are only so many games they can play with just two people, even if he really fucking does hate those movies - 

He understands what's really going on here. And he wants the same thing Phil wants. He wants a life where they get to have their traditions around the holiday, that mean something to them, that they can count on and look forward to all year long. They don't get that together during the actual day, so they'll work it in on random weekends throughout the month and the few odd weeknight hours they have to call their own once the monstrous soul-sucking entity that is the Federal Bureau of Investigations releases them from it's cavernous jaws of employment. 

The whole tradition thing - it does hit him in a soft place. Maybe that's why he's been dropping peppermint sweets and seasonally repackaged chocolates on Phil's desk every morning. It's stupid how satisfying it is to watch that man shred the green foil off a bell shaped chocolate and then devour it without stopping to breathe or, Dan continues to believe, even actually taste it. 

"Dan, have you got the email from Bryson yet?" Phil asks, voice distracted. He's shed his jacket for a cozy jumper pulled over his dress shirt, and traded out his contacts for glasses when he realized how late a night it would be. He looks tired and disheveled and like he's probably forgotten he's wearing a necklace of blinking colored miniature Christmas lights around his neck. Dan's personally ready for the battery to wear out in them, but somehow Phil's managed to find a magical novelty item that never dies. "I need to know if we got approved for that requisition form?" 

Dan scrolls his inbox. "Yeah, and, shocker to end all shockers, the bureau will not pay for your-" 

"Internal magnetometer interfaced with micro-controller monitoring for magnetic anomalies," Phil says. 

Dan ignores him. "-UFO detector. Sorry, mate." 

"It's not even that much money," Phil says, grumbling. 

"Maybe if you wish really hard Santa will leave it in your stocking." 

Phil sighs. "Probably not. I've been asking for it every year for the past three years." 

"Gosh. Darn. Go figure." Dan forwards the email to Phil anyway. "Are we close to done yet?" 

"I think so." Phil looks at the clock. "Ugh. I wanted to watch A Bramble House Christmas tonight, but I already know you'll fall asleep."

"It's better than the alternative, which is that I watch it with you and end up wanting death." 

Phil throws his balled up, discarded tie at Dan. Dan catches it and puts it in his pocket, otherwise Phil will be frantically looking for it some time next week. 

Phil reaches over and turns off his monitor. "Come on. Let's go. If there are more emails, we can finish up from home." 

"That's not helping with the wanting death," Dan says, but he's happy enough to power things down. When he stands, his back twinges and his knees pop. "Fuck me, I don't want to be here anymore." 

"Sure, but let's get home first." 

It takes Dan a second to catch on, groaning. "I hate you." 

Phil grins and slams his palm against the light switch, casting the basement office in darkness save the still twinkling lights around Phil's neck. They dance colors on his skin and Dan laughs, a much less exasperated sound. 

"Do I look like a Christmas tree?" Phil asks, in that quiet pleased voice. 

Dan steps in close to him and reaches up, running his fingers along the lights. He leans in and presses the briefest of kisses to Phil's lips. "Yeah. Except I've never wanted to climb a Christmas tree before." 

Phil's laugh is an even happier sound. "I bet Santa can make that wish come true. Home, though." 

Dan lets go and steps back, smiling. "Home."


End file.
